“Amber—”
“It works.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I am not saying it doesn’t work. I’m saying that even if it accomplishes the desired effect, every elixir also functions in some unexpected manner.”
“I haven’t noticed—”
“And you may not, or you may not immediately. But that doesn’t mean that the undesired effect isn’t…happening.”
“Okay, well, if it helps me live through tomorrow, I’m perfectly willing to deal with these ‘undesired effects,’ later.”
Desmond glanced at the vial, then his gaze returned to me. “How aboutIhelp you live through tomorrow?”
I blinked up at him, trying to ignore the sudden jump in my pulse. “Can you promise thatyoudon’t come with ‘undesired effects’?”
Though, truth be told, I was more worried about him causingdesiredeffects, even if I wasn’t willing to say such a thing aloud.
Desmond laughed, and the coppery glow in his eyes lit a fire deep in my belly. “If I do, we can deal with that tomorrow, too.”
“Four out of six. A sixty-six percent success rate.” I blinked at my notes, silently commanding the numbers to change. Willing the letters to rearrange themselves and spell out my victory. My survival.
They did not change.
“That’s a vast improvement,” Desmond noted from his stool across the table, where he held the beaker containing my latest antidote up to the light, examining the particulates.
“Yes. As long as one of these four poisons is the one administered tomorrow, assuming I’m able to make the antidote in time, I should be able to survive.” But there was no guarantee that one of the six I’d focused on would be chosen, much less one of the four I’d managed to cure.
And…it had taken me far too long to make each one.
On the bright side, however, I had no concern that I would forget the formula. I rarely forgot anything once I’d read it or written it—ironic, considering my current affliction—and we were allowed to bring notes.
My concern, aside from the possibility that I’d be presented with a poison I could not identify, was the time it would take to make the antidote with a poison already running through my veins, compromising my ability to concentrate and potentially my physical capabilities.
“I’m going to try those two again.” I gestured at the two beakers at the end of the table.
For all I knew, Desmond had known the exact recipe for each one before we’d even gotten started. If so, he’d resisted any urge to give me the answers—to potentially save my life—because he knew, as I knew, that the Alchemary had no use for a scientist who could not save herself with the skills she intended to spend her entire life practicing.
This trial was intended to weed out weak alchemists, and however terrifying I might find that fact personally, I had no quibble with that goal.
If I could not pass on my own, I should not enter the trial.
“You need a break,” Desmond insisted as he set the beaker down. “You missed the midday meal, and the Refectory will stop serving the evening meal soon.”
“I’m fine.”
He sighed. “ThenIneed a break. And a meal. And a walk, or something.” He stood, arms extended behind his back to flex his shoulders.
“Go ahead.” I dismissed him with the wave of one hand as I carried yet more supplies to the cleaning station.
“Amber—”
“I don’t have time to waste eating and exercising. If I don’t figure this out, I could die tomorrow.”
“I know. And repeating that won’t help you come to terms with the fact. But taking a break could help you approach the next round with a fresh perspective. Clearer thoughts.”
“I can’t—” Frustrated, I set the beakers down too hard, and when I turned, I gasped to find Desmond right behind me. “I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong with those last two. And I’ve made a second list of possible poisons, in case none of these six are the right one. The smart thing would be to at least write up notes on some antidotes for them, even if I don’t have time to brew or test them. And—”
His brow furrowed, and a wave of guilt washed over me. “You don’t have to stay. This is not your burden.”
